


Dizzy

by hatrickane (dandelionwhiskey)



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Concussions, Fluff, Head Injury, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nurse Patrick, Self-Discovery, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-23
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-09-11 10:32:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8976157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dandelionwhiskey/pseuds/hatrickane
Summary: It's two weeks after Jonny has a bad hit on the ice, and Patrick is really getting used to taking care of him.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sahiya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sahiya/gifts).



> Happy holidays! I hope you enjoy <3

Jonny slams into the boards head-first and Kaner’s gloves are off before he even hears the sound. He’s skating fast and some of the Flames are dropping their gloves, too, maybe expecting a fight, but Patrick just doesn’t want anything in his way. Jonny isn’t moving and Kaner’s helmet drops to the ice at his feet.

“Tazer,” he calls out, and Jonny’s eyes are open, blinking, focusing on Patrick. “Jonny, are you okay?” 

“My head hurts,” Jonny says, and and his eyes roll back in his head while his mouth goes slack.

Tazer gets carted off the ice as Kaner watches. His stomach is tight with panic and all he wants to do is follow them into the locker room, stay at Jonny’s side, tell him that everything is going to be okay. He wants to see Jonny out on the ice before the night is through.

They resume play fifteen minutes later and lose spectacularly in the third.

///

“Lay _down_ , Jonny,” Kaner frets, pressing his fingers into Jonny’s shoulders to press him back down onto the mattress. Jonny huffs out a sigh, his frown etched on every inch of his face while he settles back against his pillow.

“I’m bored,” he complains, and Kaner knows he’s really saying _I’m useless._ “I just want to water the plants.”

“I already did,” Kaner says apologetically. When Jonny glares at him, Patrick throws his hands in the air. “Okay, I’m sorry. Next time I’ll let you sit up and your brain can slosh around in your head but at least your kale won’t wilt.”

Jonny sighs grumpily and crosses his arms over his chest. “I feel fine.”

“You’re bandaged up like a Looney Tunes character,” Patrick argues, running his fingers along the bandage wrapped tight around Jonny’s temples.

Patrick has never considered himself much of a nurse. Usually, he tries to stay as far away from sick people as possible. As soon as he looks at someone with a cold, his nose will start to run and his head will get fuzzy. His sisters used to say he just wanted the attention, but it’s not like Patrick enjoys feeling sick.

With Jonny, though, Patrick can barely bring himself to leave the premises. In the past two weeks, he’s only left a couple of times to get Jonny pho from the deli down the street and to pick up a prescription.

“You don’t have to baby me,” Jonny admonishes, turning over on his side away from Kaner. “I’m an adult.”

Patrick runs his eyes along the curve of Jonny’s body under the blanket and resists the urge to press his fingers into the dip of his hip. Instead, he sits down on the mattress and tries not to let it dip too much.

“The term applies loosely,” Patrick chirps as he gently touches Jonny between the shoulder blades. Tazer does this all day; he bounces back and forth between quietly appreciative to vocally protesting. Kaner can’t say with certainty which one he prefers.

He smiles at the huff he gets in response and rolls his eyes even though he knows Jonny can’t see him. “I just want you back on the ice,” he says softly.

Jonny continues to face away, but Patrick swears he can see his shoulders relax just the tiniest bit. He’ll chalk that one up to a victory.

“Do you want a protein shake?” Kaner asks with a lilt in his voice. He knows just how to tempt Jonny into taking care of himself. Jonny acquiesces, turning to look at Patrick from over his shoulder.

“Blend in the mint from the garden,” Jonny says. “And a little of the basil.”

Kaner makes a face. “I hate using your blender.”

“Please, Kaner,” Jonny murmurs, his eyes wide and round and brown and Patrick is hooked. He doesn’t know what it is about Jonny being all soft and vulnerable, but it makes his heart thump in his chest. Jonny seems to notice Patrick’s hesitation, and his eyebrows drop in shame. “I mean, only if you want to.”

“Jesus, Jonny,” Patrick chuckles, “I’ve been at your beck and call for the last week and you’re just now wondering if I want to help you?”

“Shut up,” Tazer says shortly. “I was trying to give you an out.”

The words ring around in Patrick’s head for a moment before he lays his hand on Jonny’s ankle over the blanket. “Buddy, if I wanted an out, I’m pretty sure I could have taken one years ago.”

Jonny regards him for a moment, and Patrick wonders if the joke didn’t land the way he intended. But then Jonny reaches out and circles his fingers around Patrick’s wrist, thumbing over the veins there. “I know,” he says, and it’s a little too heavy.

Kaner pulls out of Jonny’s grasp and stands up, a shaky grin on his face. “Jeeze,” he says, “that medication must really be getting to you.”

“Kaner,” Jonny starts, but Patrick is already out the bedroom door.

This isn’t the first time one of them has tiptoed into uncomfortable territory. A little alcohol, some of the pain meds they get after injuries, it’s all it takes for one of them to say something they inevitably regret. Kaner has gripped Jonny’s shirt in both hands and told him he has the softest skin he’s ever felt in his life. Jonny has poured champagne into Kaner’s mouth and licked his lips, eyes focused just a little too low.

They’ve slept in the same bed and woken up too close, only to have one of them slip out before the other one wakes up. Kaner is a light sleeper, though.

They both understand that hockey is first. That whatever compels them to keep reaching out to one another isn’t important in the grand scheme of things. Patrick and Jonny, they’re strong, they’re successful. They’re happy.

“Happy,” Kaner mutters to himself as he picks mint leaves off their stems and drops them into the grey sludge that Jonny calls lunch. The basil is looking a little too sad. Kaner hopes Jonny doesn’t notice.

He blends everything together and adds an extra dose of vanilla, just because he thinks Jonny deserves it. And maybe to make up for the whole basil disaster. He pours it out into Jonny’s favorite mug, the one with the hawaiian flowers on it, and snags an apple from the basket for good measure.

“Lunch is served,” he says, presenting the protein shake and apple. Jonny’s face has returned to neutral, but he smiles as Kaner hands them over.

“Thanks,” he says, takes a sip, makes a face. Patrick groans inwardly. “I thought - is there-”

“You’re welcome,” Kaner interrupts loudly. He grins and sits down in the arm chair he’d settled into over the past couple of days, picking up his half-finished trash magazine. There’s a celebrity crossword puzzle at the end that he’s dying to get to.

Jonny doesn’t say anything as he finishes his lunch - he’s one of those people that eats the entire apple core, so gross. He can’t help but peek up at him while he does it. Jonny can feel his stare, though, and narrows his eyes at Patrick.

“Don’t watch if you think it’s disgusting,” he admonishes, and Patrick colors.

“You just make an interesting study,” he says coolly, looking back down at his crossword. “Someday I’ll have to tell the FBI what planet you come from.”

“It’s not that weird,” Jonny protests as he swings his feet over the side of the bed. Kaner is up in a second, incredulous, his magazine forgotten on the floor.

“Maybe you hit your head harder than I thought,” he grumbles, pushing at Jonny’s chest. “You seem to keep forgetting to _lay down_.”

Jonny sighs dejectedly. “I’m just going to put my mug in the sink and piss. Okay? Ten feet away.”

He sounds so desperate, the defiance long gone from his tone. Patrick’s heart aches a little and he takes a small step back. “Yeah, okay,” he says, “but I’m following you.”

“Christ,” Tazer muttered, easing up to his feet and walking gingerly toward the door.

“Yeah, yeah, complain all you want,” Patrick said. He crossed his arms over his chest and followed at Jonny’s heels. “Just wait until you’re all better and you’ll miss me.”

Jonny’s mug clatters in the sink and Patrick jumps a little at the sound. Jonny is gripping the edge of the counter with his head bowed. Panic swells in Patrick’s chest at he’s at his side in a second, a hand on his shoulder and one on his lower back.

Unexpectedly, Tazer shrugs him off. “I was off bed-rest two days ago,” Jonny says. Kaner blinks at him.

“No, your doctor said sixteen days,” Patrick argued, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“I told you he said sixteen days.” Jonny’s voice is all quiet and feeble. Patrick doesn’t like the sound of it. “Because fourteen didn’t seem like long enough.”

“To rest? Tazer, you’ve been chomping at the bit to get off your ass and I thought I was following doctor’s orders. You wanna tell me what the fuck you’re talking about?”

Tazer’s already shaking his head, probably too hard. “Idiot,” he grumbles, and Patrick really isn’t sure if Jonny’s talking to him or to himself. Patrick opens his mouth to reply but Jonny takes off toward the bathroom. He slams the door.

Patrick’s head is swimming as if he’s the one with the concussion. He tries to make sense of Jonny’s words, but it’s all just a jumble of confusion that Patrick can’t suss out. By the time Jonny leaves the bathroom, Patrick is sitting heavy on the couch.

“Do you want me to go?” He asks quietly. He can’t see Jonny, but he knows he’s standing there behind him. He doesn’t say anything for a minute, so Kaner figures he’s overstayed his welcome. “Okay, I - just let me grab my coat, I can take off.”

“Let’s take a nap,” Jonny says instead, his hand falling on Patrick’s shoulder. Patrick twists his neck to stare up at Tazer.

“What?” Kaner asks, but Jonny is already making his way back to the bedroom. Pat wobbles to his feet, eyes narrowed suspiciously while he walks toward the bedroom. “Jonny, do you have a fever? Are you high off whatever I put in that protein shake?”

Jonny shakes his head as he crawls back under the covers, bunching the blankets up in his hand and lifting them to Patrick with his eyebrow raised. “I’ll set the alarm for a couple of hours.”

Patrick is frozen. His feet are cement. Jonny watches him patiently, apparently willing to wait until Kaner’s brain catches up to the rest of him. Kaner toes off his shoes. “You’re so weird,” he mumbles, a stupid deflection. He really is tired, the stress of the past two weeks catching up to him all at once. He slides into the bed next to Jonny, leaving a gorge of space between them.

Their heads lay on their respective pillows. Patrick thinks facing Jonny is better, for some reason - better than one of them facing away. Jonny’s eyes are half-lidded and sleepy, his lips in an unreadable straight line. When he blinks, his eyelashes cast shadows on his cheeks.

“You left the light on,” Patrick accuses. His voice is so quiet. He doesn’t feel like he agreed to that.

Jonny easily rolls over to snap the light off. It’s still afternoon, so the sun from the window illuminates the room. It’s less effective than the lamp; the soft yellow glow filtered through the blinds is dim, but gives this buttery warmth to Jonny’s skin.

Patrick still has his fist tangled in the blanket as he tugs it up to his chin. He has the uncontrollable urge to yawn, and when he comes down from it, Jonny’s imperceptible expression has melted into something clearly affectionate. Kaner glares at him.

“Don’t be angry,” Jonny says, which doesn’t make any sense. Kaner’s not mad, he’s confused and kind of sleepy. He also feels like he should have taken his shorts off, because the elastic is kind of digging into his hip. But he’s too tired, now, and moving too much might irritate Jonny. “Just rest, Pat.”

Jonny keeps talking, but the words jumble into nonsense as Patrick falls asleep.

He dreams of the ice. He’s deking around Jonny, keeping the puck in his possession despite Jonny’s best efforts.  Patrick can see the frustration on Tazer’s face but he won’t let him have it. It’s more important that Kaner holds it close to him. The angrier Jonny gets, the further away he gets on the ice. It takes him longer to get to Patrick. It’s not as fun, Pat realizes, when he’s stickhandling alone and Jonny is skating from three miles away to get the puck.

“Try harder,” Patrick says, and Jonny is so far away. He’s a pinpoint in Kaner’s eye.

“I can’t try if you don’t let me,” Jonny says back, and Kaner feels his breath on his ear. He startles, turning, and Jonny has stolen the puck right off his tape. He skates too fast for Patrick to catch up.

Patrick jerks awake. Jonny is dozing, still on his pillow, one arm flopped between them so his knuckles are pressed against Kaner’s chest. His face goes slack when he sleeps, void of all the tension and inner monologue shit he usually allows to take over. He’s soft and looks warm and Patrick is touching his cheek before he even knows why.

Jonny’s eyelids flutter as he slowly comes back to consciousness, and he goes a little cross-eyed as he focuses in on Kaner’s nose. He clears his throat, but doesn’t say a word about Kaner’s knuckles on his cheek.

Patrick doesn’t know what to say, either. It means something, he knows that much, but he can’t figure out what. This is the first time they’ve woken up in the same bed without running away from each other. Patrick is tired of running.

“How do you feel?” He asks, moving the brush of his fingers from Jonny’s cheek to his temple. “Does it hurt?”

“Not anymore,” Jonny says softly. “Thanks for taking care of me, Kaner.”

Patrick shrugs, a dumb, awkward movement from where he’s laying. “You would have done the same for me, man.”

Jonny’s expression is completely imperceptible. He sits up on one elbow but continues to peer at Patrick, who’s trying to hold back a smirk at how silly Jonny’s hair looks all mussed and flattened. He has pillow lines on his cheek.

That’s when Patrick realizes that Jonny still looks handsome even right after he wakes up. That Jonny’s smile eases all the knots in Pat’s stomach, and that playing nurse the past two weeks has been the best part of Pat’s year.

He doesn’t know exactly why, but all that makes him want to press Jonny back down into the bed and kiss the living hell out of him.

Jonny must track the movement of Pat’s eyes to his lips, because his tongue pokes out to wet them. Patrick watches that happen, too, and Jonny smirks a little bit. “Shut up,” Patrick mumbles.

“Make me,” Jonny says, flashing his teeth. Patrick glares at him. His hand is still on Jonny’s cheek and it would take next to nothing to lean in and fit their mouths together. But Patrick doesn’t know, he’s not sure, and he hasn’t lived on the edge for years. Jonny’s expression softens, though, and he slowly moves one knee forward to knock against Pat’s. “It’s okay,” he says quietly.

“Are you sure?” Patrick asks. “I mean, I feel like you should be sure.”

“I’ve _been_ sure,” Jonny says, a hint of grumpiness in his voice. “You’re the one who can’t seem to figure it out.”

Kaner huffs. “Sure, insult my intelligence when I’m about to kiss you.”

The way Jonny rolls his eyes makes Patrick’s stomach flip. They’re always going to be like that, he realizes. The chirping, the jokes - they all mean something different. Something deeper, and addictive, and good. “Get on with it, then,” Jonny complains, and Patrick cuts him off with his mouth.

The kiss should be awkward; they’re trying to find the right angles and the right pressure, but Jonny directs Pat through it until they’re in sync. Just like on the ice, Jonny pulls Pat in and finds him that opening to score. Kaner wrinkles his nose at the metaphor but Jonny’s tongue erases his self-doubt in an instant.

Patrick isn’t surprised that Jonny’s a great kisser or that after just a minute of making out, he’s already getting hard. It’s just how Jonny always is with his weird command over Pat’s body, his hand like fire on Pat’s chest. Jonny scoots closer, sliding his hand up to cup Patrick’s cheek and lifting a leg to hook over Pat’s hip.

“Oh,” Patrick gasps, accidentally, because now they’re pressed up against each other from chest to ankle and Pat can feel everything. Jonny chuckles and Patrick can _feel_ it, want to dive into it and live in those echoes forever.

They stay like that, half-heartedly grinding and learning how to kiss each other, for awhile. Jonny’s hands wander from Pat’s shoulders to his back to his ass, back up to grip his cheeks while he rolls his hips. It’s hands-down the hottest thing Pat’s probably experienced in his entire life and he can’t even figure out why. Something about the taste of Jonny’s tongue, the softness of his fingertips, and the firm way he leads Patrick through uncharted territory - all of it just builds up in Patrick like a pressure cooker.

“Jonny,” Patrick breathes, parting from him just enough to get some semblance of composure. “Holy shit.”

“Eloquent,” Jonny says, thumbing across Patrick’s cheekbone and pressing against his bottom lip. “Still okay?” His brown eyes are kind and probing and Patrick doesn’t think he could hide anything from Jonny if he tried.

“Kind of,” he says honestly. “It’s weird that it’s not weird.”

“You’re plenty weird,” says Jonny, and kisses him again.

They don’t do much, not that first time. Patrick finds out that Jonny likes his neck kissed, especially down by the curve of his shoulder, and that he really is a sucker for Patrick’s hands on his dick. He murmurs something about soft hands and Pat pinches his thigh as punishment.

Pat, on the other hand, finds out that Jonny’s been hiding his talented mouth from the world. It’s plush and wet and so, so hot against Pat’s thighs. It takes him exactly forty-six seconds to get Patrick off with his tongue and it’s probably the best forty-six seconds of Patrick’s life.

Except for maybe afterward, when they’re disheveled and half-clothed, covered in drying spit and come. For some reason, Patrick is loving nuzzling his cold nose into Jonny’s throat and tracing his nipples with his blunt fingernail.

“You’re so tan,” Kaner says, and even he isn’t sure if he meant it as a compliment or not. “You should try laying around the house more.”

“After two weeks of that, I’m done,” Jonny says flatly. Kaner rests his chin on Jonny’s chest and pouts at him.

“Why couldn’t you have thrown yourself at me, like, a month ago?” He asks sourly. “Then we could have used this time to really get busy.”

Jonny makes a face at Kaner that’s probably supposed to be disgust, but Kaner knows he’s turned on. “We’ll just have to find time.”

“We will,” says Patrick, earnest for once. “We do.” He feels a kiss at the top of his head and closes his eyes, trying not to lean into it too hard. “And we got plenty of it.”


End file.
